


Conversations

by zathara001



Series: Brothers [10]
Category: Leverage, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Gen, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6291880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of conversations that take place at various points in the timeline of the Brothers-verse.  Each chapter will have specific character tags and a continuity note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eliot/Cassandra, post "Consequences"

Post-"Consequences," Cassandra realizes it's time to make things right with Jacob. Who better to help her than his twin?

 

As always, I own nothing to do with Leverage or The Librarians. All rights in this work are hereby given to those who do.

 

#

 

"Eliot."

 

Eliot Spencer looked up from the tomatoes he was dicing at the dark-haired woman standing in the doorway to the Bridgeport Brewpub's kitchen.

 

"What's up, Amy?"

 

"Your brother's friend is here to see you," Amy Palavi replied. "The redhead."

 

The one Jake didn't trust. Eliot finished scraping the seeds from the tomato. "She say what she wants?"

 

"No, but she's been in half a dozen times asking for you."

 

And he'd been away with the Leverage crew. Eliot had barely gotten back from saving Jake from Damien Moreau when the crew took on back-to-back jobs first in San Francisco, then in Seattle.

 

Truthfully, Eliot welcomed the jobs - distracting enough that he could put what he'd done in San Lorenzo behind him, at least mostly, but not so dangerous that he'd gotten into more trouble than a couple of fistfights with over-confident, under-trained thugs.

 

He could handle talking to one of Jake's fellow Librarians, especially in the lull between the lunch and dinner crowds.

 

"Be right there," he told Amy, who nodded and held the door for a server carrying a tray of food to the dining room.

 

Two minutes later, Eliot put the dish of tomatoes in the prep area, washed his hands, and pulled his apron over his head.

 

He stepped into the dining room, scanning it until he saw her sitting at a table facing away from the door. With a quick detour behind the bar to grab two beers, Eliot crossed the room and took a seat opposite Cassandra.

 

"Hi, Cassandra."

 

"Hi. Thanks," she added as he slid one of the beers across to her. "Is this table okay? I know you like to watch the door."

 

"It's fine, thanks," Eliot said. "So what's up? Amy says you've been asking for me for a while."

 

"Yes," Cassandra said. "I’ve been wanting to talk to you - about Jacob."

 

Eliot tensed. "Something wrong with Jake?"

 

_Please, God, don't let anything be wrong with Jake, not after San Lorenzo. He almost died then - I can't take it if he actually does._

 

"No. No, he's fine," Cassandra hurried to reassure him, and he relaxed, if only fractionally. "Sorry, that was a bad choice of words."

 

Eliot took a swallow of his beer to let his pulse return to normal before prompting, "So what do you want to talk about?"

 

"Jacob and I - we - got off on the wrong foot," Cassandra said. "And I haven't been able to make it right."

 

"What happened?" Eliot asked. In all the time he and Jake spent together these days, after so many years apart, he'd never heard the full story of why Jake didn't trust this woman. Obviously, this would be her version, but it would be more than he'd heard from Jake.

 

"I have a brain tumor," she said. "Inoperable."

 

"That's rough." And he meant it. Eliot had been nearer to death than he'd ever wanted to come, more than once, but those times were sharp and sudden, or at the least not lingering like the threat of an inoperable tumor.

 

"And when the Serpent Brotherhood offered me a cure, I jumped at the chance." Cassandra looked down at her beer for a long moment before she met his gaze once again. "I let the Brotherhood into the Library. I didn't know they were going to -"

 

Eliot liked to think he'd been that innocent, once, but he doubted it. He sat silently, waiting for her to continue.

 

"Lamia stabbed Flynn with Excalibur. And then – I don't know how – the Library was taken off this plane of existence. And then I helped them return magic to the world, and then they locked me up. I think - I think they were going to kill me."

 

"Probably," Eliot agreed casually. "You'd done what they asked, and they didn't think they'd need you anymore."

 

"Is that what you'd do?"

 

"I would've, once." Eliot kept his tone even. "Not anymore. What else is there?"

 

Cassandra frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

 

"What else do you need to make right?"

 

"Why do you think there's anything else?" The anger in her voice - that she was probably unaware of, Eliot noted - suggested there probably was.

 

"I don't know whether there is," Eliot said, "so I asked."

 

"That's the biggest thing, anyway. After that - he said he didn't trust me. He likes me, he can work with me, but he can't trust me."

 

Eliot privately wondered how she'd managed to stay so innocent so long. What he said aloud was, "And you're talking to me about this because...?"

 

Then his eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "Y'ain't asking me to make your case to him, are you?"

 

Cassandra's expression shifted from deer in the headlights to earnest so quickly Eliot almost missed it. Then she sat forward that earnest expression firmly set even as her fingers clenched around her beer.

 

"Tell me how to talk to him."

 

Eliot blinked, taken aback by the request.

 

"You know him better than anyone else," Cassandra continued, oblivious to his surprise. "How do I talk to him so he'll understand?"

 

She was just full of surprises, Eliot mused, hoping she'd take his momentary silence as a sign that he was considering her question. Finally, he said, "Straight up. That's the only thing that ever works in a situation like this. It's no guarantee he'll understand, but he'll listen."

 

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. "I guess I just needed the reassurance that was the right thing to do."

 

Eliot had no idea what to say to that, so he took a swallow of beer. It was petty of him to want to be a fly on the wall when she approached Jake. It was worse that he momentarily considered calling Jenkins to ask if that could be arranged.

 

"Thank you," Cassandra said. "I'll talk to him tonight."

 

"Nope, not tonight."

 

"Why not?" Cassandra straightened. "I've put it off too long already. Especially since -"

 

Eliot could finish the sentence for her. _Especially since he almost died a couple of weeks ago._

 

"'Cause he's my brother, and I've got dibs." Eliot quirked an eyebrow at her. "Or did you think you're the only one who has things to make right with him?"

 

She stared at him. "But - you're his brother. What could you -?"

 

"That's between me and him." Eliot kept his tone gentle, but firm.

 

She blushed. "Sorry." She looked away for a moment, then met his gaze again. "Thanks for talking to me."

 

"Not sure I said anything you didn't already know, but you're welcome."

 

"Sometimes, you need to hear it from someone else." Cassandra swallowed the last of her beer. "I hope your talk with him goes well."

 

"Hope yours does, too."


	2. Chapter 2 - Jacob, Eliot, Mia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That conversation Eliot called "dibs" on to Cassandra. Takes place the night after chapter 1.

Jacob Stone grinned at his twin when Eliot opened the door to his apartment. "You said stew and cornbread, so I brought beer."

 

Eliot chuckled. "Always a good start. C'mon in."

 

The door had barely closed behind him before Jacob found himself wrapped in his twin's bear hug.

 

Jacob could only hug him back. "It's okay," he murmured. "I'm okay."

 

"Yeah," Eliot said finally. "I know. I'm not."

 

There was nothing to say to that, so Jacob held his brother until Eliot stepped back. Eliot's expression was calm, and if it was a forced calm, Jacob wouldn't comment on it.

 

"Beer, huh?" Eliot said. "Real beer, or mass-produced swill?"

 

"Not as real as Old Man Holland's homebrew, but real enough." Jacob held out the six-pack he'd brought, and Eliot surveyed the label.

 

"It'll do."

 

"High praise," Jacob said dryly, but Eliot ignored him in favor of taking the beer to the fridge. Jacob took the moment to glance around his twin's apartment.

 

It was, he decided, almost exactly what he would expect Eliot to have, given the life his twin led. Only a few possessions, and those of good quality.

 

Then he saw that the table was set for three.

 

"We expecting someone else?"

 

"Mia's in the bathroom." Eliot pulled three glasses from his cupboard, lined them up on the island.

 

"Mia?" Jacob prompted.

 

"Yeah. Things are getting serious, and you should know."

 

"Serious as in giving her a ring serious?"

 

"Serious as in exclusive. I don't know I'll give anyone a ring ever again." Eliot looked up as he finished pouring the first beer, gave him a thin smile. "Only time I did before, it didn't work out real well."

 

"Her fault or yours?" Jacob took the glass Eliot pushed toward him.

 

"Kim Jong-il's."

 

Jacob couldn't help staring at his twin for a long moment, his beer almost forgotten in his hand. Eliot opened the second beer.

 

"So I need to add North Korea to the list of places I don't go," Jacob said.

 

Eliot shrugged. "Not a lot to see there, anyway."

 

Which, Jacob thought, ended the conversation nicely. At least it left him with nothing to say in response.

 

Eliot finished pouring the second beer, started on the third. He didn't seem inclined to speak again.

 

The silence was, oddly, starting to feel awkward. Jacob floundered for something to say, settled on, "I'm sorry."

 

"Long time ago," Eliot said, and that seemed to be all he was going to say on the subject as he focused on pouring the last beer.

 

"But if it wasn't your fault, or her fault, you shouldn't expect what happened then to happen again."

 

Eliot looked up with a grin. "Giving relationship advice, are we?"

 

"Just pointing out that once isn't enough to judge by."

 

"No, it's not," Eliot agreed.

 

Then Eliot was smiling - genuinely smiling in a way Jacob hadn't seen since they'd reunited. Before Jacob could ask what had caused it, he realized that Eliot was looking past him. The girlfriend - Mia, Jacob reminded himself - must have emerged from the bathroom.

 

"Hello, Jacob."

 

Jacob stiffened, his shoulders tensed. He knew that voice - would never forget it - so turning to face the speaker was barely a confirmation.

 

"Lamia."

 

"Just Mia, now." Her gaze slid past him to, presumably, Eliot, if her smile were anything to go by.

 

"So," Jacob said, turning back to his twin. "Damien Moreau gets killed, and she gets a nickname. I'm not following the logic."

 

"With her, it wasn't personal," Eliot said. "The only reason Moreau grabbed you was to get to me, and he wouldn't have stopped until one of us - hell, both of us - was dead. Mia -"

 

He broke off, glanced at Lamia, and she finished for him, "-was wrong."

 

Jacob blinked. "What?"

 

"I was wrong," she repeated. "Something Santa said made me think. And the more I thought, the more I realized we were going about things the wrong way, and I couldn't be part of that anymore. That's when I made the offer to you, and then Eliot when you turned it down."

 

Jacob took a swallow of his beer, more to buy a moment to think about what she'd said than to enjoy the beverage. Lamia - Mia - was being honest, at least as far as he could judge, and that was as much as he could expect from anyone. And there was no mistaking the affection between her and Eliot - who was he to deny his twin whatever happiness he might find?

 

He must've been quiet too long, because she spoke again.

 

"I'm sorry. I know it's not adequate, but it's all I can say. I hope you can forgive me, but if not, I understand. Just please, don't make Eliot choose between us - that's not fair to any of us."

 

"I wouldn't." Jacob looked from her to Eliot. "Never."

 

"I know, bro." Eliot's simple words eased a weight Jacob hadn't realized he felt.

 

Jacob nodded at his twin's declaration, then focused on Mia. "I spent a lot of time in church, but I'm still not sure I know what forgiveness is," he said. "But I'm not holding a grudge for what happened."

 

Mia smiled, and Jacob thought he saw relief in her expression. "Thank you."

 

"But if you try to kill me again," Jacob continued, not sure whether he was serious or not, "all bets are off."

 

"Pretty sure that's not going to be a problem," Eliot said.

 

"And if it ever were," Mia added, "I'm very sure Eliot would make certain it wasn't."

 

"Damn right," Eliot said, and Jacob could only stare first at Eliot and then at Mia.

 

Then her earlier words registered - _please don't make Eliot choose between us._ He'd thought she asked as a courtesy, a _let's be friends_ moment. Only now he realized she'd been serious - and so was Eliot.

 

"Eliot -" Jacob began, but broke off, because there was no way to say what he was thinking without being ruder than he'd ever been in his life.

 

"It's all right," Mia said. "I understand, because in his place, I'd make the same choice."

 

"Are we good?" Eliot asked. "'Cause the cornbread's done."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3 - Jacob and Quinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob pays a debt. Follows chapter 2.

Jacob adjusted the controls for the Back Door. Jenkins made adjusting its settings look easy, but it required a finesse of touch that Jacob didn't have.

 

At least, he didn't have it when he was rushing, like he was now. And why was he rushing, anyway? Ten minutes was plenty of time to get the Back Door aligned and get to his destination.

 

Must be nerves, he decided. He'd asked for this meeting, but it wasn't one he was entirely comfortable with.

 

"Stone?" Cassandra's soft question barely registered. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

 

"Only if it's really a minute," Jacob replied. "I've got a meeting in ten, and the Back Door's being finicky."

 

"It'll probably be longer than that," Cassandra said.

 

"After I get back, then." Jacob paused, inhaled and exhaled slowly. He could adjust these controls, and he would.

 

"Where's your meeting?" Cassandra asked.

 

"Madrid," Jacob answered. "The Museo Nacional del Prado."

 

Ah-hah! He had it - he hoped. He made the final adjustment to the controls, stepped toward the door itself.

 

"How long do you think it'll take?"

 

Jacob paused again, his hand on the door, frowning. "Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours."

 

"Madrid is nine hours ahead of us," she said. "So if you're back by dinnertime, we can talk then?"

 

"Sure, if I'm back," Jacob agreed, but his thoughts were already in Madrid as he opened the door.

 

This was one meeting he couldn't miss.

 

#

 

Like Rome, and Paris before it, Madrid had been on Jacob's bucket list since he'd found out just how extensive the Prado's collection was. With art spanning more than seven centuries of human creative expression, Jacob knew he could spend weeks, even months, in the Prado and still not have his fill of studying it.

 

Studying it at all would have to wait, Jacob reminded himself. But at least his appointment was in front of Bosch's _Garden of Earthly Delights_. He'd written a thesis on the possible interpretations of that painting without ever seeing more than high-quality reproductions, and he could spend the few minutes before his meeting examining the original.

 

He didn't know how long he'd been studying center panel of the triptych when a voice came from behind him.

 

"Stone."

 

He turned, offered his hand. "Quinn."

 

Quinn shook his hand, and waited.

 

Jacob supposed that was only to be expected - he'd asked for this meeting, after all, not Quinn.

 

"I never said thank you," he said. "My mama would tan my hide if I didn't."

 

"She insisted on in-person thanks?" Quinn asked, humor limning his expression.

 

"I figured in-person was better than leaving an email trail someone could follow or, worse, subjecting you to my handwriting."

 

That made Quinn chuckle. "Good instincts, but next time choose someplace without surveillance cameras."

 

"Or have a friend wipe the footage," Jacob countered, and decided the satisfaction he felt at seeing Quinn studying him with more respect than he had before wasn't petty.

 

"Or that," Quinn agreed. "My regards to Eliot."

 

Quinn turned to go, and Jacob said, "I owe you."

 

Quinn shrugged without turning. "Parker paid me with that book. And even if she hadn't, in our line of work, just knowing you exist and can be used against Eliot Spencer would be payment enough."

 

"Not for saving me," Jacob said.

 

Now Quinn turned, his expression puzzled. "For what, then?"

 

"Going back for Eliot."

 

Quinn opened his mouth to protest, Jacob thought, but shut it before any sound came out.

 

"That wasn't part of the job, was it?" Jacob asked. "The job was get me out, but you went back for him anyway."

 

"What good is having leverage on him if he's dead?" Quinn asked philosophically.

 

"Right, sure. That you're friends had nothing to do with it."

 

"We're not -"

 

"Yes, you are," Jacob cut him off. "And even if you're not, I still owe you for that."

 

"You're welcome."

 

"Take this."

 

Quinn eyed the slip of paper Jacob held out warily. "What is it?"

 

"My phone number, Jenkins' number, and Baird's."

 

"I'm flattered, but foursomes aren't my kink."

 

"It's an out if you ever need one."

 

Now Quinn looked interested. "An out?"

 

"You need it, you call, and we'll open the Back Door for you."

 

"I'm not sure what the Back Door is." Still, Quinn took the slip of paper, tucked it into a pocket.

 

"We're not supposed to talk about it," Jacob said, "but Eliot's already broken that rule by bringing you in, so I'll give you the bare bones version. Which languages are you comfortable speaking?"

 

So Jacob told him about magic and the Library in broad terms, leading them through the ground floor exhibits and shifting between three languages as he spoke.

 

"Think of magic like dirty nukes," he concluded in English, "and we're the Nuclear Emergency Search Team."

 

"Interesting analogy," Quinn murmured as they started up the stairs to the second floor.

 

"Got it from Baird, along with the NEST reference."

 

"The door," Quinn said. "One-time only?"

 

"Depends how many times I end up owing you."

 

"Call anytime," Quinn declared magnanimously. "I'll make myself available."

 

Jacob chuckled. "I might take you up on that."

 

Then a flash of movement - blonde hair - caught his attention, and he turned, frowning.

 

"What?" Quinn asked.

 

"I thought I saw Parker."

 

"Then it wasn't Parker," Quinn said. "That girl isn't seen unless she wants to be seen."

 

Quinn had a point, and Jacob nodded agreement, suddenly uncertain. He'd known he had to make things right with Quinn, and he'd been confident doing so - but they weren't friends, were barely acquaintances brought together by a moment of crisis, and now that he'd done what he set out to do, he had no idea what to do or say next.

 

"You need my services at the moment?" Quinn asked.

 

"No," Jacob said. "I'm here for research."

 

"For a job?"

 

"For an article I'm writing."

 

Quinn looked surprised for just a moment, then he shrugged. "I have an appointment in Barcelona. See you around."

 

Jacob made a mental note to follow the news from Barcelona over the next few days - but then reminded himself that Quinn was good enough at his job that whatever he was doing probably wouldn't make the news.

 

In the few seconds it had taken him to come to that conclusion, Quinn had disappeared into the crowd. Jacob chuckled to himself and started back downstairs to the _Garden of Earthly Delights_.

 

He'd studied it enough before Quinn arrived to spark a new idea, and now he could examine the painting in more detail and flesh out that idea. It might result in a revision to his thesis.

 

#

 

Eliot Spencer looked up from reviewing the recipes for the brewpub's new seasonal menu when Parker came bounding into the command center and smiled at her enthusiasm.

 

The smile faded to concern when he registered the flat, paper-wrapped parcel she carried.

 

"Whatcha been up to, Parker?" He kept the question casual.

 

"Traveling. I saw Happy Eliot in Spain."

 

"Spain?" Eliot hadn't known Jake was heading to Spain – but Jake was a grown man and Eliot didn't need to avoid Spain. Then again, he hadn't known Parker was spending their downtime in Spain, either.

 

"Uh-huh."

 

Eliot watched her lean the parcel against the wall beneath the oversized monitors. "Guessing you weren't there for the beaches."

 

"Beaches are boring." Parker started tearing the paper off the parcel like a child at Christmas.

 

Eliot groaned when he recognized the painting she revealed – _David and Goliath_. "One Caravaggio wasn't enough?"

 

"I'll put it back. As soon as I make my point."

 

"Who're you making a point to?" Eliot asked.

 

"Ezekiel Jones. He didn't think I could do it."

 

Eliot hid a sigh. Jake's fellow Librarian caused worse headaches than Hardison ever had. "Tell you what - put the painting back now, and I'll talk to Jones."

 

"But he needs to know I could do it - that I did it."

 

"I'll take a picture, show it to him, then delete it. That work?"

 

Parker frowned - the same frown she got when she was planning a job. "I guess."

 

Then she brightened. "But we can enjoy it tonight before I take it back, right? Maybe hang it on the wall while we have dinner?"

 

"Sure, Parker. We can do that." But he'd make it an early dinner.


	4. Chapter 4 - Jacob and Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra finally has that talk with Jacob. Takes place the day after chapter 3.

Not for the first time in his life, Jacob was grateful he'd learned to touch-type. He still couldn't keep up with his thoughts, but touch-typing was the closest he'd ever come. Today, his fingers flew across the keyboard as he compiled research from obscure occult art historians with his own observations of Bosch's _Garden of Earthly Delights_ into one monograph that could, he hoped, change the way people looked at that painting forever. At the least, the article would be more interesting than his thesis on the painting had been.

 

Jacob sat back, flexing his fingers as he re-read the piece. It wasn't one of his better articles, he decided. He couldn't include references to actual magical things he'd seen or experienced that resembled the images in the painting, and that lack of specificity softened his point.

 

Still, Jacob saved what he had. The article had good bones, and when he figured out how to add flesh without compromising the safety and security of the Library, he'd come back to it and maybe then it would be ready for publication.

 

"Jacob?"

 

He looked up, past the screen of his laptop, to see Cassandra Cillian standing in the doorway to the alcove where he'd set up a work table.

 

"Hey, Cassie." He stood and started stacking the books he'd pulled from the Library's shelves for research.

 

"What are you working on?"

 

"A piece on the occult implications of Bosch's _Garden of Earthly Delights_. You know it?" Jacob asked.

 

"I can't say I do," Cassandra replied.

 

"It's weird," Jacob said. "Even disturbing. But y'know how ever since that book came out, people think Leonardo had occult insights? He didn't. Bosch, though -"

 

Jacob broke off, still not accustomed to discussing his knowledge and passions openly.

 

"What about Bosch?" Cassandra prompted.

 

Jacob shrugged one shoulder, the passion that had animated him fading to the back of his mind. "If you look at his imagery, some of it is right out of occult lore - some things we've actually seen, and some that are recorded in books in the Library's collection."

 

Cassandra might not know much about art, but her eyes widened at that statement. "So you think he was one of us?"

 

"Maybe," Jacob said, unwilling to voice his conclusions aloud. "I'm still doing the research. But you didn't come here just to talk about art, did you?"

 

"No," Cassandra agreed, and she looked away from him for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "Things still aren't right between us."

 

Jacob concealed a sigh. "We get along. We work together all right. What more do you expect?"

 

Cassandra gave him a hard look. "You're still holding a grudge against me."

 

That made twice in as many days, Jacob thought, that he'd been accused of holding a grudge. It would be funny if Cassandra weren't so earnest.

 

He shook his head, once. "I got better things to do with my hands than hold a grudge."

 

"Then - why aren't things right?" She sounded lost, even plaintive. Jacob forced himself to remain still.

 

"I can't answer that, because I don't know what you mean by right."

 

"You know - _right_." Cassandra waved one hand, as though that would explain everything. "Comfortable, maybe. Close, like friends."

 

"We're not friends." He said it gently, but he meant every word.

 

"We could be."

 

Jacob felt his hands tensing where they rested on the books he'd used for research. "Just let it go, Cassie. We work together, and that's enough."

 

"No. It's not enough."

 

Jacob forced his hands to relax. "Why not?"

 

"Because I'm friends with Ezekiel, and Colonel Baird. Even Flynn. But not you," Cassandra said with those wide eyes Jacob had once believed were innocent.

 

"You don't have to be friends with everyone."

 

"I don't have many friends anymore, not since the diagnosis. I'd like to be friends with you."

 

"That's not going to happen." The words came out harsher than he'd intended, and Cassandra's mouth opened slightly in surprise.

 

It was several long seconds before she asked, "Why not?"

 

Jacob reached over to power down his laptop. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, had hoped Cassandra would accept working together as enough. Now he knew he'd hoped in vain.

 

"Jacob?"

 

"I told you before, Cassie," he said. "I like you, I do - but I don't trust you."

 

"Because I let the Serpent Brotherhood into the Library."

 

"Not that. Or not just that."

 

"Then what?" Cassandra demanded.

 

"D'you really want to get into this?"

 

"I deserve to know."

 

Jacob blew out a breath. "Okay - you asked. I don't trust you, I _can't_ trust you, because you don't respect me."

 

"Of course I do," Cassandra protested, and Jacob thought it sounded more automatic than genuine. Of course, he might be biased. "You're brilliant - as smart as me in different subjects."

 

Jacob shook his head, and she fell silent. "You're not getting it. Remember the first time we met?"

 

"At the elevator," Cassandra said immediately. "We rode down with Ezekiel and the colonel."

 

"Jones insulted both of us," Jacob said. "And I stepped up for you."

 

"You called me a little lady," Cassandra said, as though she were reminding him. "Still not actually an improvement over maid."

 

"See, that's just it," Jacob said, and Cassandra frowned, clearly puzzled. "You slapped me down, then and now, because you didn't like the words I used. The action itself, the impulse, didn't matter because I didn't do it the way you wanted."

 

"That's not - I mean," Cassandra swallowed. "I didn't think of it like that."

 

"Of course not. You're too wrapped up in yourself to think about others."

 

Jacob regretted the words the moment he said them, but they couldn't be unsaid, and Cassandra's hackles were already raised.

 

"That's not fair!"

 

She was hurting, Jacob could tell, and for a moment debated backing off, apologizing - but if he did that, she might think there was still some chance they could be friends, and they'd just have a repeat of this conversation some other time. So he steeled himself and met her angry gaze with one that he hoped was calm.

 

"Isn't it? What about when we were in London, looking for Santa?"

 

"What about it?" Cassandra sounded almost defiant now. "You questioned that other Santa -"

 

"I tried to talk to him," Jacob said. "But you kept jumping in."

 

"I was trying to help."

 

"Help." Jacob shook his head. "You had no idea what he was saying, and you knew I understood Cockney rhyming slang. How, exactly, were you helping? But even if you were trying to help, that still told me you didn't think I could do my job, that I'm not as smart as you, whatever you said just now."

 

"I -" Cassandra began, then swallowed and started again. "I didn't realize -"

 

"I know you didn't. And I get that's how you are."

 

"Are? Not were."

 

"Are."

 

"But I do respect you," Cassandra protested. "I do!"

 

Jacob felt his lips twitching into what might've been a grin, if there'd been any humor behind it. "I want to believe you, Cassie, but when we were in Oklahoma, you were cracking jokes about my family - my _family_ -"

 

Jacob had to stop, to swallow, to summon some semblance of control once again before he could continue. Cassandra cut him off before he found that control.

 

"Oh, Jacob." Her voice cracked. "I'm so -"

 

"Stop," Jacob said. "Just - stop, all right? There's nothing to say."

 

#

 

_There's nothing to say._

 

But there had to be something to say, Cassandra thought. There had to be some variable in the equation, something she could solve for, to make things right with Jacob.

 

But he was gathering the books he'd stacked, turning to go deeper into the Library, and the moment for speaking passed.

 

Only - she had the feeling that if she didn't say something now, there'd never be another chance, another time when Jacob was open to talking to her and, just maybe, listening to her, too.

 

So she'd wait here for him to return and tell him - what?

 

He didn't want to hear that she was sorry, Cassandra knew. What could she say instead? That she'd heard him, and she'd try to do better?

 

The words sounded hollow even in her thoughts.

 

She'd have to think of something - and sooner than later, because she heard his footsteps drawing nearer. And how had he managed to re-shelve that pile of books so quickly? She still had trouble with the stacks, even after all her time as a Librarian.

 

Cassandra was still trying to decide what to say to Jacob when there was a pause in his footsteps, and then his voice carried clearly to her.

 

"Hey, Maggie."

 

There was more warmth in those three syllables than Cassandra had ever heard from him before - not even when he spoke about Mabel Collins.

 

"No," he said next. "Just finishing up for the day. Yeah, that sounds good. I'll see you in a bit."

 

The conversation was innocuous enough, but still Cassandra felt like she shouldn't have heard it, and she really should leave, giving Jacob the privacy of his own feelings once again.

 

But before that resolution traveled to her feet, he was coming through the far doorway, a smile teasing at his mouth. It didn't fade when he realized she still stood there, and she supposed she owed Maggie, whoever she was, thanks for that.

 

"Cassie?" Jacob's tone was more hesitant than curious now. "We okay?"

 

Cassandra tried to summon a smile. "Yeah. We're okay."

 

"Good." His smile remained, and Cassandra was glad for that much, at least. "See you tomorrow?"

 

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

 

He gathered his laptop and turned toward the Annex's main entrance. Cassandra could only watch him go, and privately resolve to try to earn a little of that warmth for herself, whatever it took.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm marking this work complete because this is the last chapter I have in mind for now, but I might add more if ideas resolve into actual stories/chapters... like the conversation between Parker and Ezekiel that I keep having thoughts for.


	5. Jacob/Eliot - Post Librarians Season 3 Episode 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the fight for Shangri-La, Jacob seeks his brother's counsel.

CONTINUITY NOTE: This conversation takes place between episodes 9 and 10 of The Librarians season three.

 

L = L = L

 

"You sure about this?" Eliot Spencer asked his twin, Jake Stone, as Jake led him into an open space in the Library.

 

It reminded Eliot of both a gym and a dojo, and he was somewhat surprised not to see rows of free weights along the walls. Then again, there was no altar in honor of the prior masters and students who had trained in the space, either. He supposed those two things balanced out.

 

"Uh-huh." Jake's tone was more serious than usual, and when he elaborated, it was quietly enough that even Eliot, standing next to him, almost didn't hear it.

 

"I have to," Jake said. "I have to find out whether it's just skill."

 

"No _just_ about a skill," Eliot said. "Skills take practice and work."

 

"I mean just skill, no magic involved. You're the only one I know who can help me with that."

 

"Quinn?" Eliot had to point out the obvious. "He's not as good as I am, but good enough for what you want."

 

Jake was shaking his head before Eliot reached the third word. "No. It has to be you."

 

Eliot gave up any attempt at dissuading Jake - if he were honest with himself, he shouldn't even have tried. They were twins, alike in appearance as well as temperament (mostly), and Eliot knew how stubborn _he_ could be.

 

"Okay. But when I wipe the floor with your ass, don't say I didn't warn you."

 

# # #

 

Eliot had no idea how long it was before he and Jake finally collapsed to the tatami mat floor, sweat pooling around them.

 

Long minutes passed, the only sound their labored breathing as they recovered from what Eliot had to admit was the best sparring session he'd had in … well. He didn't like to remember those days.

 

"Gentlemen."

 

Eliot twisted his head - the only movement he felt capable of at the moment - to see Jenkins approaching, carrying a tray with half a dozen large glasses of water and a white towel draped over each shoulder.

 

"If you'll sit up," Jenkins began.

 

Jake's weak laugh cut him off. "Not sure I can just yet."

 

"Sure you can," Eliot said. "If I can, you can."

 

That, he admitted silently, was a very big _if._ Still, he dug deep into his willpower, his absolute conviction that he would _not_ disappoint the man who, besides being his too-many-to-count grandfather, was the purest knight who'd ever lived, and rolled to his side before pushing himself up to an awkward sitting position.

 

Beside him, Jake grumbled.

 

"Well done, Mr. Spencer," Jenkins said. Balancing his tray on one hand, he pulled a towel from his shoulder and offered it to Eliot.

 

Gratefully, Eliot wiped the sweat from his face and neck. He managed a smile before downing the contents of the glass Jenkins offered him. The contents of a second glass followed momentarily, and then he felt strong enough to sip the third.

 

Jake groaned and heaved himself upright to receive the same ministrations Eliot had.

 

"Thanks, Jenkins," Jake said when he, too, had drained two glasses of water.

 

"Mr. Quinn is grateful to both of you," Jenkins said.

 

Jake looked puzzled, but Eliot could only laugh - and be thankful he had the breath to do so. "What was the wager?"

 

"I'm not entirely sure of the details," Jenkins said, "but Mr. Jones owes him twenty dollars."

 

Now Jake laughed. "Anything that costs Jones money is good."

 

"How are you feeling now?" Jenkins asked.

 

Eliot closed his eyes and scanned his body mentally. "Pretty good, actually. I might even be able to stand up."

 

"Mr. Stone?"

 

"…Yeah. I'm okay."

 

"Excellent." Jenkins collected the towels and empty glasses. "If you'll advise me in advance the next time, I will ensure you have everything you need."

 

Jake just nodded, and Eliot chose to follow his lead. The Library, after all, was Jake's domain, not his.

 

When Jenkins had gone, Eliot looked at his twin. "You get your answers?"

 

"I think so," Jake answered - but Eliot knew the expression on his twin's face. He'd seen it often enough in the mirror.

 

"Buy you a beer?" he offered.

 

Jake blew out a breath. "Yeah. Just not at your pub."

 

"Even if Parker and Hardison are gone?"

 

"Gone?" Jake frowned at him.

 

"Some poor, unfortunate soul managed to break into one of Parker's stashes," Eliot said. "They're off to find him and make his life hell."

 

"Not you?"

 

"Not this time." Parker had been most emphatic - that Hardison was particularly equipped to do what needed to be done - and Eliot had learned a while ago that sometimes it was better not to argue with the crazy.

 

"If they're gone, then yeah," Jake said. "I'd invite you over, but Maggie's there."

 

"And she doesn't know about this." Eliot nodded to indicate the Library.

 

"Not all of it. Not enough to worry her with this."

 

"It's Sunday," Eliot said. "We close at nine. Late supper?"

 

"Drinks after?" Jake countered. "Maggie likes Sunday dinner."

 

"See you then."

 

# # #

 

Eliot was chopping onions when the knock sounded on the door of the Bridgeport Brewpub. A glance at the security camera feed confirmed that it was, in fact, Jake on the other side of it, so Eliot only took the knife he'd been using to chop those onions, held unobtrusively in his right hand, when he went to open the door.

 

"Sorry I'm late," Jake said. "Had dinner with Maggie."

 

"How is she?" Eliot asked.

 

"Come to Sunday dinner and find out."

 

"Next time I'm not on a job. C'mon - I'm prepping for tomorrow morning."

 

Eliot led Jake back to the kitchen and gestured to a tall stool in one corner. "Drag that up, if you want."

 

"A stool in a kitchen? A professional kitchen?"

 

"Got a prep cook who got a bum leg in the Sandbox," Eliot replied. "He pulls it up to the end of that counter -" he waved his knife toward his right "- and everyone else knows to move around him."

 

Jake only nodded as he grabbed the stool and placed it opposite where Eliot was working. Eliot diced a carrot before looking up at Jake.

 

"What's buggin' you?"

 

Jake hesitated. "This'll sound weird."

 

"Weird," Eliot repeated. "We're the umpteenth-generation descendants of Sir Galahad. We do weird."

 

Jake chuckled, as Eliot had hoped he would, but sobered almost immediately. "When we sparred - what did you think?"

 

"Best sparring session I've had in ages." It was the honest truth, and Eliot hoped that showed in his tone.

 

"But was it all me?" Jake asked.

 

"All you? What d'you mean?"

 

"Was it like other sparring sessions? Or could … something else have been involved?"

 

Eliot considered his response while he put the diced carrots into the fridge. "I don't think so, but I ain't a judge of things like that."

 

"So you think it was just - sorry, all skill?"

 

"Near as I can figure. Why?" Eliot crossed to the sink to wash his knife and cutting board.

 

"You didn't ask how I learned to fight," Jake said slowly.

 

"Figured if I needed to know, you'd tell me." Another carrot, reduced to dice.

 

"From the Monkey King. In Shangri-La."

 

Only years of familiarity with knives and surprises kept all of Eliot's fingers attached to his hand. Carefully, he set the knife aside to rest his fists on the work surface and regard Jake.

 

"Why's that important?" he asked.

 

"Because…" Jake reached over and pulled up his right sleeve, revealing a tattoo along his forearm. Eliot recognized some Chinese logograms, but there were other symbols he couldn't decipher, as well. He waited, quiet, for Jake to elaborate.

 

"Long story short," Jake said, "I could've killed the Monkey King and taken Shangri-La for myself. Instead, I made sure he stayed king. This was my reward."

 

"A tattoo seems like a lousy reward," Eliot murmured.

 

"It's the Gift of the Inner Soul," Jake said, as though it were an explanation. Eliot let it lie. "Sifu said that with it, I may bring light where there is only darkness."

 

"Magic," Eliot concluded.

 

"Magic," Jake confirmed. "And Librarians don't use magic. Well, we're not supposed to - and now I have this. I didn't ask for it. I don't want it."

 

"Because it's magic?" Eliot asked.

 

"Isn't that reason enough?"

 

"Maybe," Eliot allowed. "I'm not a Librarian, not a Guardian, so take that for what it's worth."

 

"Tell me," Jake said. "I keep going round and round in my head. A different perspective might be good."

 

Carefully, Eliot put away his tools before gesturing Jake to follow him into the dining room. He pulled two beers - not Thief Juice specials, thanks - from the fridge behind the bar and offered one to Jake. They raised their bottles to each other and sipped before Eliot responded.

 

"I think magic is a tool," he said finally, "like a knife is a tool - it can chop carrots, or it can slice a man's throat. The difference is the person using it. You're the one using this magic, so I got no worries about it."

 

"None?"

 

Eliot didn't know whether to laugh or to wince at the almost desperate eagerness in Jake's tone. It wasn't like his twin to need that kind of reassurance - not lately, at least, Eliot corrected himself, and offered what reassurance he could despite his unease at the necessity of it.

 

"None," Eliot confirmed. "You'll use your best judgment, and that's all anyone can do. You won't use it for yourself alone, and that's more than most people would do. So no, I got no worries."

 

Jake was silent for a long moment before he swallowed and met Eliot's gaze evenly. "Thanks, Eliot. I needed that."

 

"Happy to help," Eliot said, and would never admit how relieved he was to see Jake grin. Whatever faced him and the other Librarians, Eliot believed Jake would do the right thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene's been bugging me since the end of Season Three, and I finally found words for it.


	6. Jacob/Jenkins/Eliot - post "Grave of Time"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 4x06 "...and the Grave of Time." A family dinner turns to serious conversation.

Eliot Spencer set the last knife at the last place setting on his table. Three place settings tonight, as it was the first Friday of every month, assuming neither he nor his twin, Jake Stone, nor his many-times-great-grandfather, currently known as Jenkins, was working on a case.

 

They were family, so there was no real need to go to a lot of trouble - or so Jake and Jenkins both said - but Eliot found he liked setting a proper table for them, even if dinner was only the takeout Jake sometimes brought.

 

Tonight wasn't a takeout night, though. Tonight was filet mignon to mark the anniversary of his and Jake's reunion, and the proper table setting added to the celebration.

 

Eliot could admit it was a celebration, that he was glad he and Jake found each other again. He'd never regret leaving home to join the Army when he did. He'd always regret staying distant from his twin as long as he had.

 

A knock at his door made him grin. _Not too distant at the moment._

 

He turned as the door opened, and his smile dropped as he saw the somber face of his twin and neutral face of his ancestor.

 

"Somebody die?" he asked.

 

"Not yet," Jake answered, his tone as dark as his expression.

 

"And likely not for many years yet," Jenkins added. "Certainly not tonight, unless Mr. Spencer's cooking has suddenly taken an unexpected turn toward the deadly."

 

Eliot glanced from one to the other. "Y'gonna fill me in, or do I have to guess?"

 

"Of course we'll tell you," Jenkins said, adding before Jake could respond, "but serious talk is for after the meal, and preferably over an excellent brandy."

 

"I guess that depends," Eliot said, "on whether or not you brought an excellent brandy."

 

"A 1789 Courvoisier & Curlier." Jenkins produced a bottle from beneath the coat draped over his arm. "If it is as good as the last time I had it, it is most excellent indeed."

 

"Lookin' forward to it." Eliot took the older man's coat and hung it on the coat rack inside the door to his apartment. "Have a seat. Dinner's about ready."

 

L ~ L ~ L

 

Later, after steak and red velvet cake for dessert, Eliot sat forward. Both Jake and Jenkins had been more quiet than usual during dinner, even if they had shared stories of their recent adventures - and really, a time-traveling Librarian from 1888? Eliot wasn't certain whether to be glad or sorry that he hadn't met that Librarian - and now Eliot wanted answers.

 

"So what's got you all mopey, Jake?"

 

"I'm not moping," his twin shot back.

 

"Really?" Eliot countered. "That's what Maggie called it."

 

"Maggie?" Jake frowned at him.

 

"She called earlier, said you'd been mopey all week. Asked if I had any idea what's wrong."

 

"There is nothing wrong," Jenkins said firmly. "It's … a change, yes, but not a wrong."

 

"Depends on how you look at it," Jake said.

 

"Look at what?" Eliot demanded. "Maybe this conversation calls for beer, not brandy."

 

"No," Jenkins said. "I brought the brandy to share. If you'll show me where the glasses are, I'll pour while Mr. Stone begins the tale."

 

"Y'could use our given names," Eliot reminded him for the dozenth time. "Glasses are in the cabinet left of the stove."

 

"I'll try to remember," Jenkins said. "But formality is a hard habit to break. Mr. Stone, if you will."

 

Eliot focused his attention on his twin, who snorted and shook his head. "Where do I even start?"

 

"Begin at the beginning," Eliot quipped. "Go on to the end, and then stop."

 

Jake glared at him. "Thank you, Lewis Carroll."

 

"You might start when we realized Colonel Baird was gone," Jenkins suggested.

 

Jake considered that suggestion, then nodded, and Eliot found himself listening to the tale of a returned immortal Guardian, and the immortal enemy she'd fallen to in combat, and …

 

…and Jenkins - _Galahad_ , purest knight who ever lived - sacrificing his immortality to save her.

 

"So no one's dying yet," Jake concluded. "But it's only a matter of time."

 

"As it is for you, and Mr. Spencer, and everyone else." Jenkins brought snifters to the table, offered one to Eliot, one to Jake, and then sat with a third, his expression reverent.

 

Eliot inhaled the aroma of the brandy - earthy and syrupy sweet - before taking the tiniest of sips and letting the liquid roll over his tongue and settle around his taste buds. This was to be savored, not least because of its age and rarity, but also because it was simply exquisite.

 

"1789," Jenkins murmured. "The French Revolution."

 

Eliot let the last of his sip of brandy slide down his throat before saying, "Washington becomes the first President of the United States."

 

"Lavoisier wrote his _Elementary Treatise of Chemistry,_ " Jake added.

 

"The mutiny on the _Bounty_ ," Eliot said, then grinned at his twin. "What? It was a great movie."

 

Jake grinned and shook his head. "The first Thanksgiving."

 

"And this most excellent brandy. All in all, not the best of years nor the worst of years." Jenkins' tone carried only reflection, Eliot thought, no regrets.

 

"So." Eliot set his brandy snifter on the table, allowing the flavor of his first sip to evaporate before he took another. "What are you going to do with your life, now that you're as mortal as the rest of us?"

 

For the first time since Eliot had met him, Jenkins looked lost. "I don't know."

 

"Tell me you're not leaving the Library," Jake said. "Not after Flynn -"

 

His twin's voice broke, and Eliot could only clap a hand on Jake's shoulder. He'd never particularly liked nor respected Flynn Carsen, but Jake had, and Flynn's departure hurt Jake as much as Jenkins' - Galahad's - now-inevitable death would.

 

"I've no intention of abandoning my duty while I am still capable of performing it," Jenkins retorted like that soldier, the warrior, he was. Eliot knew he wasn't imaging the relief in his twin's expression.

 

Jenkins' own expression turned thoughtful. "Yet I find myself reflecting on Nicole Noone's words, too - that for better or for worse, she'd been tied to the Library a very long time."

 

"No reason you can't take a vacation from the Library," Eliot observed. "All soldiers get leave, and from what you've said, you haven't taken any in a while."

 

"No," Jenkins agreed. "I haven't. And perhaps that's clouded my judgment - perhaps that's made me less willing to consider new things, or, perhaps, to see old things with new eyes."

 

"That's why you wouldn't consider that Nicole might be telling the truth," Jake said slowly, as though testing the idea as he spoke it.

 

"Among other things," Jenkins agreed, and something in his tone suggested that those _other things_ were best left alone for now.

 

Jake caught the implication, too, because he fell silent. Before the silence could grow uncomfortable, Eliot met Jenkins' eyes.

 

"More reason for you to take some downtime. Nothing changes the way you look at things more than a change of scenery."

 

"Perhaps you're right." Jenkins took another sip of his brandy, and Jake and Eliot in turn followed suit.

 

When the last of that sip had faded, Jenkins spoke again. "Perhaps I'll visit some places I used to know, see how they've changed, and consider whether they've changed or, perhaps, I have."

 

"Likely both," Jake said, and Eliot nodded his agreement. After a moment, Jake spoke again, his voice tentative. "Mind some company?"

 

"Pardon?" Jenkins said.

 

Jake shrugged, and it was only Eliot's familiarity with his twin let him see the tentative nature of the movement and his expression with it.

 

"I figure a lot of the places you want to go are on my bucket list," Jake said. "And it would be cool to see them through your eyes, too."

 

Jenkins looked interested, but reluctant, so Eliot said, "Can't argue with that. Mind if I tag along, too?"

 

Where Jenkins looked … surprised, as though the thought that someone might want to accompany him had never occurred to him, Jake blinked as though he'd been slapped. "You can get time off from whatever you do?"

 

"I can if you can," Eliot told him, and was rewarded with a roll of his twin's eyes. Then he looked at the older man once again. "How about it, Jenkins? Road trip?"

 

After a long moment, Jenkins nodded. "Road trip."


End file.
